


The House Guest

by Chaseachren



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killers, Sounding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-01-06 21:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18396458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaseachren/pseuds/Chaseachren
Summary: “The first time I killed, it was someone I hated. But the second time, it was someone I loved.” Ed smiled, his eyes soft with reminiscence. “It was the second time that was important. I loved her so much, more than anything  She tried to leave, so I killed her. I took every bit of her, everything she is, and now she’s mine forever.”“So you see,” he said, suddenly focused on Oswald, “You will stay with me, one way or another. And I’ll love you more than anyone else ever could.”





	1. Meet-cute

Finding Oswald had been a beautiful accident. It was dark, and Ed was walking his usual path through the park to his home, a secluded trail that wound its way through thick trees. It was cold and Ed could see his breath. Turning his collar up, he went off the trail, taking a shortcut through the dense woods, when the yellow beam of his flashlight fell on something odd. It was March, but the snow was still melting, and it was easy to see what was clearly blood, sprinkled on the slush. Curious, Ed examined the area with his flashlight, and picked out footprints in the mud. One hand on the revolver in his coat pocket, he followed the prints. 

As he swept the arc of the flashlight back and forth, he heard rustling, and then a trembling voice called, “Who’s there? Help me!” and then, “Please.”

The voice belonged to a young man with messy dark hair and chalky white skin. He was huddled on the ground, shaking, and appeared to be scraped and bruised. His right ankle was swollen and misshapen. Ed deduced that he was in shock, and decided to take him home. 

*****

Oswald woke up feeling groggy and disoriented. He felt sort of like he had a hangover, and he wasn’t sure where he was. He tried to sit up, wincing, and saw that there was an IV in his right arm, attached to a metal stand by the bed. Looking around, Oswald started to panic, because he wasn’t in a hospital. He was in a pretty normal seeming studio apartment, except there were no windows, and there was a strange man sitting on the side of the bed, smiling at him. 

“Hello, there!” The man said.

Oswald flattened himself against the headboard, nervous, but tried to sound demanding when he asked, “Who are you? What happened?” 

“Try to stay calm, Oswald, careless movement will upset your injury.”

But Oswald was panicking, because he was hurt and scared and confused, and this man didn’t look like a doctor. Stupidly, Oswald tugged at the IV line, trying to get it out of his wrist, but he felt weak and the attempt was pathetic. The man batted his hands away, saying, “Oh dear, oh dear.”

And then the man jumped up and came running back, with a little bottle of something that he sucked up with a syringe. Oswald yelled at him to stop, and started thrashing and struggling, but the man did something with the IV that made Oswald too tired to struggle anymore.  
When Oswald woke up again he felt calmer, but still sore and confused. There was a bag of clear fluid dripping slowly through the IV attached to his right wrist . His right ankle was wrapped up, and propped on a pillow, and there was a blanket over the rest of him. 

When Oswald tried to sit up, the man came rushing over, and helped steady Oswald against the headboard, sliding a pillow behind him. The man was smiling widely, with his lips closed, and he had glasses and dark hair. He was skinny, and didn’t really look old enough to be a doctor. 

“How are you feeling, Oswald?” 

“How do you know my name?” Oswald asked, accusingly. 

“Oh, don’t you remember? I found you in the woods with a broken ankle. I’m Ed. Ed Nygma,” Ed patted Oswald’s knee. Oswald tried to shift his leg away, but he was still groggy and it was hard to move around much.

“Are you a doctor?” Oswald was pretty dubious. Ed was wearing a wooly green jumper with a silly tie – he looked like a grade school teacher or something.

“Close! I’m a pathologist. The only patients I see are already dead,” Ed joked. His hand was still on Oswald’s leg, just above his knee.

“Okay…,” Oswald said. He was kind of creeped out, but didn’t have the energy to muster any actual outrage. Sulkily, he asked, “Where are my clothes?” He was wearing plaid pajamas that were way too big for him. 

“I had to cut open your right trouser leg, but your clothes were in bad shape anyway. Don’t worry, I have plenty of things you can borrow,” Ed said, beaming, and patted Oswald’s leg again.

“Thanks, I guess,” Oswald said, frowning, “but I should really go to the doctor.” 

“Of course!” Ed said, chipper as ever, “First thing in the morning. Is there anyone you need to call, to tell them you’re okay?”

Oswald slumped back, his eyelids were really heavy and his ankle was throbbing. Before he could remember that she was gone, he mumbled, “my mother….” 

“Alrighty, then,” Ed said, “In the morning.”

“No-o,” Oswald tried to protest, but he was so tired, and it was so easy to just close his eyes. 

*****

Ed was elated. He couldn’t wait to know everything there was to know about Oswald Cobblepot. After getting him home, Ed’s first priority had been to get the IV in, and the ankle set. After that, he addressed the cuts and scrapes, and dressed him all nice and cozy in Ed’s favorite PJs. Oswald’s other clothes had to be burned. There was nothing in the pockets but a folding knife and a set of house keys; Ed locked both items in his safe. And then, he had simply waited. 

Ed regretted sedating Oswald twice, because it meant more sitting around and waiting. He locked the door to upstairs, checked Oswald’s pulse, and eventually settled down on the couch to sleep. 

Ed woke up, like he always did, right around 5:45 am. Oswald was still sleeping, but he would be awake anytime now. Giddy, Ed started making breakfast, but as he whisked the eggs, Ed calmed down – although he was excited to have Oswald here, and wanted him to stay awhile, having a protracted house guest would be complicated. 

Beneath the hiss of percolating coffee, Ed heard Oswald stirring, and rushed over, saying, “Hello, sleepyhead!”

Oswald just groaned sleepily in response, but Ed would give him a pass because he looked so cute, curled up in Ed’s pajamas. The sleeves fell over Oswald’s hands, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. 

“How tall are you?” Ed asked.

Oswald peered up at him, face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh?”

“Oh, never mind, we’ll have time for that later. Breakfast!” 

Ed began peeling back Oswald’s blankets, ignoring his squawk of indignation. When he winced, however, Ed slapped his own forehead, and said, “Silly me! You must be in pain. Wait here.” 

After he was given 10mg of morphine, Oswald seemed to relax a bit, although he still looked wary. “Can you take this out now?” he asked, about the IV. 

Ed considered for a moment and then decided, “Nope, let’s keep it in for a bit, we can do breakfast in bed.”

Throughout breakfast, Ed could sense Oswald was getting impatient, and he kept asking when they could leave for the doctor. When Ed asked about his mother, Oswald pinched his lips together, looked away, and said she died. His eyes got watery, but he wouldn’t say anything else. Ed watched Oswald rub at his cheeks with his sleeve, and decided to shelve the issue for now. It was for the best, anyway, that Oswald didn’t have anyone waiting for him to come home. 

*****

Oswald became concerned quickly that Ed wasn’t going to take him home, or to a doctor. In fact, Ed talked like Oswald was moving in or something. He didn’t seem that scary, just like a dorky weirdo, but a sick feeling crawled down Oswald’s spine during breakfast and wouldn’t go away. Ed wouldn’t let him call anyone, and kept telling him to eat his omelet and Oswald was so frustrated that he scowled and smacked the plate away.

“I want to leave, now!” Oswald yelled, and tried to get out of bed, but he got all tangled up in the IV line. Ed just watched him flail around with a creepy, flat expression that made Oswald even angrier. 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” Ed said, calmly, pushing up his glasses with a finger. 

“Watch me!” Oswald shouted. Giving up the fight with the IV, Oswald just yanked the tube out of wrist, which hurt and bled a lot more than he thought it would. The sick feeling was all over, but his broken ankle hurt so badly that when he tried to stand he collapsed forward on his knees. Oswald realized how helpless he was and the anger bled away into fear. He tried to crawl over to the stairs, but Ed stepped in front of him. 

Ed crouched down to look at him, frowning, and he looked sinister instead of dorky. Oswald flinched away, and curled up as much as he could with his bad ankle, covering the back of his neck with his hands. He started to cry. 

“Please,” Oswald gasped, he could see Ed’s shiny brown shoes through his tears, “Please, don’t hurt me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Oswald, but if you force me to, I will.” 

Gulping wetly, Oswald let Ed pull him back over to the bed, and when Ed said, “stay here,” Oswald didn’t move. He tried to take deep breaths, but his shaky control was shattered when Ed came back and snapped something around his right wrist. Incredulously, Oswald yanked at his wrist. It rattled, but there was no give. Oswald was handcuffed to the bed. He burst back in to sobs, terrified, and started apologising and pleading.

When Oswald’s begging dwindled into whimpers and shuddering breaths, Ed rubbed his thumb over his cheek and said, “Oswald, I’m going to leave these on while I go out. When I come home, I expect you to have better manners.” 

And then Ed walked away, out of Oswald’s line of vision. He could hear Ed walking up the stairs, and his footsteps above him, then a door slammed. Oswald yanked at his wrist, and yelled and screamed for Ed to come back, for someone to help him. His wrist was scraped raw, his voice was hoarse, but nobody came – Oswald was trapped.


	2. First Date

Oswald was surprised at how quickly his terror turned to boredom. Once the immediate danger passed, Oswald became much more aware of his general discomfort. His wrist was sore from pulling at the handcuffs, and he was bleeding a little from where the IV had been. He was also hungry.

“This is awful,” he said to the empty room. 

There were no windows, just narrow slats high up on the walls; he was in an open floor basement. Craning his neck, Oswald could see stairs, and the kitchen. On his left, there was a living space with a couch, television, and gramophone, and lining the walls were rows and rows of old books. On his right, the door to the bathroom was ajar; next to it was a heavy metal door with a keypad lock. Oswald shuddered.

Oswald definitely regretted yanking the tube out of his arm, because the pain in his ankle returned full force, and without the adrenaline in his system, he had nothing to distract him from it. He could hear a clock ticking somewhere, but without looking it was impossible to tell how much time had gone by. Eventually, though, he got hungry, thirsty, and had to use the bathroom.

When he heard the door at the top of the stairs open, he was almost relieved. 

*****

After his irritation cooled, Ed felt guilty for snapping at Oswald, and leaving him so abruptly. Oswald was young, and frightened, but Ed needed to maintain a cool head. Oswald made him reckless enough already. When he returned with supplies, Oswald was sitting up and straining to turn around to see him. Ed waved. 

“Hello, Oswald,” he said.

“Where were you?” Oswald asked sullenly. He was chewing his bottom lip anxiously.

“Getting supplies,” Ed said. Angling his body to block the keypad, Ed punched in the code and put his tools away – they were brand new, specially for Oswald. 

“What are those? What’s in there?” Oswald’s voice was high and nervous. It was cute. 

“You’ll see,” Ed smiled, and booped Oswald on the nose with his index finger. Oswald flinched.

“Whatever,” he said looking away, and blushing,“Can you…? I mean, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“If I take that off,” Ed tugged lightly at the handcuffs, “Will you be good?”

“Yes,” Oswald said, defeated. 

“Okie doke.” 

Ed got the handcuff key out of the safe, and unlocked Oswald’s wrist. Oswald immediately cradled his arm to his chest, and rubbed at the red marks. He helped Oswald off the bed, and over to the bathroom, and waited in the doorway, with his arms crossed. 

“I-I can’t go, if you’re standing right there,” Oswald said, furiously embarrassed. 

“It’s a natural bodily function,” Ed pointed out, confused, “And your back is to me.”

“Still!” Oswald sounded like he was going to cry, but Ed waited patiently until eventually he was able to go. He clapped his hands together as Oswald washed his hands and sniffled. 

“Now! Are you ready?”  
***** 

Whatever Ed meant, Oswald wasn’t ready. After watching him pee, the weirdo made him limp over to the metal door, and Oswald balked. 

“No,” he pleaded, “Don’t.”

“Oswald,” Ed said, firmly, “I thought you were going to be good.”

He punched in a code, and the door beeped. Inside was a white tiled room, lit by bright fluorescent lights, with an operating table in the middle, surrounded by trays of gleaming instruments. The door swung shut behind them with an ominous thud. 

Oswald was ready to run, broken ankle be damned, but Ed was ready for him, and jabbed him in the neck with a needle before he could move. Once he was sedated, Ed sat Oswald down on the table, and started unbuttoning his pajama shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Oswald slurred, furrowing his brow. 

“I need to examine you,” Ed explained, pushing up his glasses. He pulled a hospital gown out of a cupboard, and gestured with it at Oswald, “You need to put this on.”

“Okay, okay, but can I do it myself, please?” Oswald asked desperately.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Ed responded. 

Fighting the sluggishness in his limbs, Oswald managed to turn away and squirm into the gown on his own, and reluctantly dropped the pajama pants on the floor. He didn’t have anything on under, so after doing up all the snaps, he clutched the fabric tight around himself. 

“Lie back,” Ed said, snapping on latex gloves. Cold and apprehensive, Oswald trembled on the table as Ed strapped down his arms and legs down. Oswald craned his neck when Ed stepped out of sight, and returned with a papery surgical smock over his regular clothes. 

“I’m excited,” Ed confessed, “I’ve never had a live body on my table before.”

Oswald squeezed his eyes shut. “Are you going to kill me?”

“As of now, I have no plans to kill you.”

“What are you going to do?”

Ed sat down on a rolling stool, and wheeled his way over next to Oswald. He smiled. “I just want to record some data. If you answer my questions, and cooperate, nothing should hurt, but there may be some discomfort.”

“Okay,” Oswald took a breath and unclenched his fists. He still felt fuzzy and light from whatever Ed had injected him with. “What do you want to know?”

*****

Ed was ecstatic. Oswald was being so good. There were benefits to having a living specimen. He could simply ask Oswald for his height – 170cm – and his weight – 50kg – instead of lugging his deadweight over to the scale. 

“Your BMI is less than optimal,” Ed frowned, making a mental note to adjust Oswald’s diet accordingly.

Ed undid the snaps on the side of the gown and listened to Oswald’s rapid breathing. Goosebumps broke out across his chest from the cold of the stethoscope as Ed counted heartbeats. Blood pressure and heart rate were slightly elevated from stress, but the haloperidol in Oswald’s systems was doing wonders to mitigate his anxiety. 

Oswald stayed still, eyes clenched shut as Ed measured limbs and collected samples. He filled various vials with blood, clipped fingernails, swabbed the inside of Oswald’s cheek, took snippings of his dark hair. Measurements were carefully noted, and samples were placed in lovingly labeled specimen jars, tucked away in a locked cabinet for further study. A catalog of Oswald Cobblepot’s parts. Ed smiled. 

“You’re being so good, Oswald, thank you.” 

“Are we done?” Oswald asked, damp eyes turned determinedly toward the ceiling.

“Almost,” Ed said, rubbing soothing circles on Oswald’s stomach. The muscles tensed and jumped under his hand. 

*****

Oswald sniffed miserably when he heard there would be more. It wasn’t so bad, like being at the doctor’s, but the constant dread that it could get worse at any moment was exhausting. 

“How old are you?” Ed asked suddenly. 

“Twenty-one,” Oswald said. 

“You look younger. Are you a student?”

“No.” Oswald was defensive, “I work.”

“Where are you employed?”

“I work at a bar in the the theatre district. My boss will wonder if I’m not there tomorrow.”

“Let me worry about that, Oswald. Do you live alone?”Oswald considered lying, but eventually he nodded. “I’d like your address, please.”

“Why?” Oswald asked, nervously. 

“Oswald.” Ed placed a warning hand on his neck. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh under Oswald’s jaw, and Oswald felt it dig in when he swallowed. He recited the address of his mother’s apartment – only Oswald’s apartment, now. 

“Thank you.”

Then Ed leaned over and fiddled with the levers of the exam table, so that Oswald’s legs were were ratcheted above his head, and spread open. Ed wheeled the stool between them. The hospital gown slipped down to around Oswald’s knees, exposing him, and blocking Ed from view. Dread settled under Oswald’s skin, hot and painful. 

“What are you doing?” Oswald’s voice was high, panicky, and cracked on the last word. 

“You know,” Ed said thoughtfully, “you’re my first in a number of ways.”

“Wh-what?” Oswald was distracted by the rustling and rattling going on between his spread legs, and imagined Ed preparing all sorts of nefarious implements to use on him.  
A gloved hand stroked the underside of Oswald’s thigh. “My only male subject, and living, too. You’ll forgive me if I indulge my curiosity.” 

Ed showed Oswald a thin metal rod, curved at the top. It looked like something a dentist used to check for cavities. 

“This is a Van Buren sound. It’s typically used for the dilatation of urethral strictures, but sounding is sometimes employed as a recreational activity, albeit with a risk of urinary tract infection.”

Ed took hold of Oswald’s penis and pressed the metal to the tip. It was icy cold. “I suggest holding very still.”

Oswald went rigid, breathing shallowly through his nose. Surely Ed wouldn’t – he couldn’t! But cold pressure gave away to an awful sliding insertion as Ed pressed the thing in. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes – it didn’t hurt, exactly, but the sensation was shivery and invasive. 

“Almost done,” Ed murmured, inching it still further, “You may feel like you need to urinate, that’s perfectly natural.”

“Please,” Oswald whimpered as Ed held the rod in place, as far as it would go, “Please, take it out.” Heat was spreading through his lower abdomen from where the rod was pressing. It did feel like he had to pee, but it was more than that. Oswald resisted the urge to squirm. 

Finally, Ed eased it out, a slow glide that left Oswald shaking in relief after. He collapsed back on the table, where he’d been holding himself rigid against the restraints. Ed got up and stripped off his gloves, replaced them with a new pair, and sat back down. Oswald heard the click of a cap and the squeak of latex.

Suddenly wet fingertips were pressing against him, and Oswald thought it his heart might beat out of his chest. He wanted Ed to inject him with more of the stuff from before, anything, so that he could skip this part. A high-pitched whine slid through his gritted teeth as Ed rubbed him with the pads of his fingers, and then pushed one in. The finger slid slowly, all the way in to the second knuckle.

“Have you experienced anal penetration prior to this?” Ed asked, mildly, like he was asking about the weather. 

“No,” Oswald choked out. He could feel himself clenching around Ed’s finger. Ed slid the finger out, only to press back in with two. This time, the stretch hurt, and Oswald panted as Ed pushed all the way in, so his hand was flush against Oswald, two fingers on the inside, and his thumb pressing from the outside. 

“You’re doing so well, Oswald,” Ed murmured, crooking his fingers.

“Ah,” Oswald gasped, as Ed nudged against the place the rod pressed earlier. It was like getting an electric shock, blunt and burning. He wriggled, trying to dislodge Ed’s fingers, but Ed squeezed his hip warningly, and pressed his fingers in harder. Pressure was building low in Oswald’s stomach, like he really needed to pee. 

“Please…,” Oswald moaned, “I can’t.”

“I believe in you,” Ed said, and then he wrapped his other hand around Oswald’s cock. Oswald hadn’t even noticed, but he was hard. With Ed working him inside and out, all Oswald could do was pant and squirm in desperate humiliation. When he came, his release felt like air hissing from a tire. 

*****

Edward watched in fascination as Oswald came apart on the table. After swabbing some of his semen and labeling the last sample jar, he wiped Oswald down and lowered his legs. Oswald was shaking, and when Ed undid the restraints, he curled into a ball and hid his face in his hands. Ed took off his gloves, and stroked Oswald’s back, rubbing between the bumps of his spine. 

“Thank you, Oswald,” he whispered reverently “for sharing that with me.”


	3. Dinner Theatre

Oswald remained limp and compliant, eyes distant, as Edward redressed him, and settled him back on the bed. He didn’t complain when Ed gently cuffed his wrist to the bed frame. 

“Just for an hour or so,” Ed explained. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Oswald turned away and buried his face in the pillow. Ed sighed, and decided to give him space for now. He retrieved Oswald’s house keys from the safe, recalled the address Oswald had given him, and drove into the city. He stopped in front of a rundown brick building next to a Polish deli.

Oswald’s apartment was small and cluttered with doilies and lace, most likely his late mother’s influence, but his bedroom was cold and spare. Ed gathered some of his clothing, the quilt off his bed, and a photograph of his mother. After taking a last mental snapshot of Oswald’s sparse quarters, Ed returned home, making a quick stop on the way, for Chinese takeout. 

*****

After Ed left, Oswald spent some time sobbing into a pillow and feeling sorry for himself. No one had ever touched him that way before. He shuddered at his vulnerability in that cold, bright white room, strapped down naked and flayed open. He swore he could feel still Ed's fingers inside him, like a phantom limb. However, before he could work himself into full-blown panic, Oswald was distracted by the sound of footsteps upstairs. 

Oswald stiffened upon Ed's arrival. He was loathe to turn around and meet Ed’s gaze after what happened, but the back of his neck itched from the man’s presence, and his skin felt hot and itchy. 

“Hungry?” Ed asked brightly. 

“Not really,” Oswald said, trying and failing to keep the nervous waver from his voice. 

“Regardless, I must insist.”

Ed un-cuffed him, made him hobble over to the kitchen table, and carefully propped up his bad leg on the chair across from him. Ed sat down next to Oswald’s elevated foot and started unpacking cardboard containers, like nothing happened earlier, in the white room. Instead, they were making small talk over braised asparagus, looking for all the would like two good friends, enjoying a meal together. The situation was so surreal, it almost made Oswald laugh. 

“You’re not eating, Oswald,” Ed pointed out.

"This isn't my favorite food," Oswald claimed, petulant. He nudged a limp noodle with a chopstick. 

“What is your favorite?” Ed asked. 

“Salmon,” Oswald answered automatically, “Or tuna fish. My mom made me sandwiches.”

Ed kept pressed Oswald to eat, but chewing and swallowing was unusually difficult with Ed staring at him from across the table. As Oswald picked at his food, Ed fired off a bunch of basic questions, Oswald’s favorite color – purple – and his best subject in grade school – debate. But then he asked about his father. Oswald said he was dead, and tried to change the subject. 

“What about you?” he challenged.

“What about me?” Ed asked, surprised.

“Tell me something about you. It’s only fair.”

“I suppose you’re right. What would you like to know?”

Oswald wasn’t really interested in his kidnapper’s life story, but it was always good to know your enemy. 

“What do you do?”

“I’m a forensic pathologist. I work for the police.” Oswald’s heart sank. Ed was part of the police, which mean't that he probably wouldn’t get caught anytime soon. There goes hope of rescue. 

“Why do you want me here?” he asked, slumping in his seat. 

“I want to know absolutely everything about you,” Ed said earnestly, “I want you stay with me forever.” 

“Not going to happen," Oswald huffed, with as much bravado as he could muster, but Ed leaned in closer, and smiled. His teeth were large, and very white

“Have you ever loved somebody so much you couldn’t stand to be apart from them? That you would do anything to keep them with you?”

Oswald thought of his mother. “I guess.”

“The first time I killed, it was someone I hated. But the second time, it was someone I loved.” His eyes were soft with reminiscence, like he was recalling a pleasant childhood memory. 

Ed continued, dreamily, “It was the second time that was important. I loved her so much, more than anything. She tried to leave me, so I killed her. It was an accident, but it worked – after she died, she couldn’t leave. I took every bit of her, everything she is, and now she’s mine forever.”

“So you see,” he said, suddenly focused on Oswald, “You will stay with me, one way or another. And I’ll love you more than anyone else ever could.”

*****

It felt so good to admit these things out loud. Ed felt that Oswald understood him, that he saw the real Ed. When he met Oswald’s eyes, they were clear, and very wide. Earlier, they had looked blue, but now they looked pale green. Oswald’s gaze flicked downward, and his lashes fluttered against his cheeks. Lovely. 

When Oswald didn’t speak, Ed got nervous and fidgety. He put his hand over Oswald’s and the warmth of his skin was reassuring. Oswald’s hands were surprisingly large for a man of his stature, rawboned. The insides of his wrists were so pale that the skin was almost translucent, and his veins stood out blue underneath.

“You don’t have to kill me,” Oswald said, finally, voice low, “I’ll stay with you, if that's what you want.”

Ed squeezed Oswald’s hand gratefully. “Thank you, Oswald.”

“But what if you get bored of me?” There was a sweet, vulnerable tremble in Oswald's voice, and his eyes were round and wet.

“Oh, Oswald.” Ed shook his head, “Nothing about you could be boring.”

After dinner, Ed offered Oswald another painkiller, Percocet this time. After a moment’s hesitation, Oswald took the pills, and even muttered “thank you” when Ed handed him a glass water to wash them down with. Ed turned on the television, settling Oswald on the couch so his ankle was elevated over the armrest, and his head was in Ed’s lap. As the pills took effect, Ed could feel the tension bleeding out of Oswald’s body. 

Ed brushed Oswald’s fringe off his forehead gently. He had freckles, scores of them, across his nose and speckling his cheekbones. Ed traced the sharp line of his nose with a fingertip. What made Oswald special, he realized, was not only that Ed wanted to know Oswald, but that he wanted Oswald to know him, as well. Then, Oswald would be able to see him, in a way that none of the women ever could. 

“Tomorrow,” Ed decided, “Tomorrow, we’ll do something special. A demonstration. I want to share something with you.” 

*****

Before Oswald could dwell too deeply on Ed's impending "demonstration", the painkillers kicked in, making him tired and lightheaded. He was slightly nauseous, and definitely dizzy, but overall, he experienced a warm sense of contentment. He wasn’t even worried about lying helpless in a psycho’s lap. In the background, some quiz show was playing, and Ed shouted out the answers along with the contestants. Oswald would normally strenuously object, but the most he could do now was give a little grunt of irritation. In response, Ed quieted, and brushed a thumb over Oswald's temple. It actually felt pretty good, like something his mom would do. 

Oswald must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when he woke up he was back in the bed, and Ed was sitting up next to him, reading a book. He felt more alert, and jerked back. Ed noticed he was up, and smiled. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” Ed reached into a nightstand and came back with a small white tablet. 

“Take this, it will help you sleep. Sleep is integral to the healing process.” He pressed the pill between Oswald’s lips with his thumb, and Oswald swallowed automatically. He took a sip of water and scowled. Ed chuckled. He shut off the light, and nudged Oswald over onto his side, so he could wrap around him from behind, and drape a heavy arm around him. Oswald’s heart pounded in his chest, and his last thought was that there was no way he could fall asleep like this. 

When he woke up, sun was streaming in through the high windows, and he was alone in bed. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he heard a muffled groan and blearily looked around, only to discover a blonde woman, bound and gagged in a corner of the room. He blinked. 

“Oh, you’re up!” Ed said, exiting the kitchen with a dishtowel slung over one shoulder, and a gun peeking out of his back pocket. “I see you found your present.” 

“Oswald, this is Isabella. Isabella, Oswald.”

Oswald waved half-heartedly. 

“Now, what I would like is for us to have a nice, civil breakfast. Can we all agree?” 

Isabella nodded frantically. Less enthusiastically, Oswald echoed her. 

“Good! Oswald, if you’ll please get dressed, and then come join us at the table.”

Oswald found a pile of clothes on the end table, and was surprised to see they were from his own closet – a pair of black slacks, underwear, and a button down shirt. Shaking off his unease, he hobbled painfully into the bathroom and changed, struggling a little to get the trousers over his bandaged ankle. By the time he was finished, Ed and Isabella were seated at the kitchen table. Isabella’s gag was removed, but her hands were handcuffed in front of her. Oswald took his seat, across from Ed. 

There was a bruise on Isabella’s temple, and her make-up was runny. She looked pale and tremulous, but otherwise remained remarkably composed. Oswald was irritable, and in pain. 

“Isabella here is a librarian. I ran into her late last night, just as she was getting off work. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Ed,” Isabella murmured, “That’s right.”

“Okay,” Oswald said. 

Ed directed the breakfast conversation, bring up ordinary, everyday things like favorite books, and the weather. It was bizarre, like they were playing happy families, except the image was ruined every time Isabella struggled to eat with her hands bound. It drove Oswald crazy, and eventually, he couldn’t play along anymore. 

“What’s she doing here?” He asked, interrupting Ed in the middle of a long anecdote about a fly swatter, a ghost, and a man named Rudy.

“Oswald,” Ed chastened, “Manners.”

Oswald bristled, recalled being handcuffed to the bed for hours, and reconsidered. He muttered an apology. 

“And now to her.”

“Sorry, Isabelle.”

“Isabell-uh,” Ed corrected. 

“Isabella.” Oswald rolled his eyes 

“It’s quite alright, thank you,” Isabella demurred, lips trembling.

*****

Oswald seemed a little jealous of Isabella. It was sweet, if a bit childish. Ed wanted to reassure Oswald, but he didn’t want to give the game away so soon. After breakfast, Ed gave Oswald another dose of Percocet, and settled in to get to know Isabella. The gramophone played softly in the background. 

Edward discovered that Isabella wasn’t a natural blonde, that she loved riddles, and that she had developed her love of books while recovering from a fractured tibia. Oswald, apparently, hated riddles. 

He poured out glasses of champagne for himself and Isabella. Oswald, sprawled across the couch, watched with heavy lidded eyes. 

“A toast,” Ed said, “To love, and friends.”

“To love and friends,” Isabella echoed, smiling shakily. He pale lipstick was a little bit smudged. Ed thought it looked better that way, softer, complimenting her eyebrows, which were rather severe. 

After they both drank, Ed pulled Isabella close to himself, and swayed slightly to the music. Her skin was warm, and just a little bit clammy, under his hands. He leaned forward, and breathed in the gentle scent between her neck and her shoulder. 

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Isabella,” Ed said, and then he kissed her. Oswald made a small sound from the couch. 

As he kissed her, Ed brought his hands around to Isabella’s delicate, swan-like neck, and gently, with aching tenderness, he squeezed. Isabella’s eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open, soundlessly. She grasped at Ed’s wrists with futile fingers. 

 

“I love you,” Ed told Isabella, sincerely, as she struggled,“Truly, I do.”

He lowered Isabella to the floor, and held her close, cheek-to-cheek, as she died. Under his hands, her pulse fluttered faster and faster, and after the crescendo swelled – stillness. It was almost unbearably intimate: her parted lips, fluttering lashes, and reddened cheeks, leading to a final spasm, and then limp relief.

When it was over, he stayed pressed against her for a moment, eyes closed and breathing heavily, as sweat cooled on his brow. 

Once the aftershocks of euphoria faded into a buzz of contentment, Ed slid across the room to Oswald. He was stock-still, staring at Ed with wide eyes, which were so pale that they seemed colorless, like two tiny mirrors. Ed knelt down in front of him. Distantly, the gramophone warbled into static. 

“Do you see?” Ed asked, supplicant, stroking his knuckles down the white curve of Oswald’s throat.

Oswald swallowed. “I see.”


	4. Third Base

Oswald stared down at Ed. The same hands that had just strangled someone were now touching him, soft and almost reverently. 

“What does it feel like?” Oswald found himself asking. He was surprise at how casual his voice came out when he added, “Killing, I mean.”

“Like the best orgasm you’ve ever had. And once you have it, you won’t be ever be satisfied again.” 

*****

It was different, with an audience. The sweet ache lingered in his veins longer, and stronger. No words could do the feeling justice, the feeling of complete control, of having someone’s everything at your fingertips. Ed wanted more, but he needed to be careful. He didn’t want to waste Oswald on an impulsive moment of poor self-control.

There are things other than his life, to take from Oswald. 

Still kneeling, Ed slid his hands up the inside of Oswald’s shirt, playing the piano of his ribs down to narrow hips. Mindful of Oswald’s damaged ankle, he pulled him closer. He kissed his belly, so flat it was almost concave, and nipped at his belly button just to make him twitch. 

“Take this off,” he murmured, tugging on Oswald’s shirt. 

“I don’t want to,” Oswald said, nervous.

“Don’t be shy. If you can’t, I’ll take it off for you.” Ed made to unbutton it, but Oswald stopped him, and removed his shirt with shaky hands. He immediately crossed his arms over his chest.

Ed gently pried his hands away. “Oswald, you’re lovely. I want to look at you.”

Ed stroked Oswald’s skin, letting a thumb brush his nipple, eliciting a sharp inhalation. He mapped Oswald’s body with his tongue, enjoying the sharpness of his collar bones, the freckles on his shoulders, and most of all, the curved white line of his throat. He lingered for a moment on one sweetly rounded ear, and when he bit down, Oswald gasped and shivered. 

He moved to unzip Oswald’s fly. “Wait,” Oswald said, moving to stop him.

“Let me do this for you, Oswald,” Ed entreated. His grip on the back of Oswald’s neck tightened. “Please.” 

Oswald swallowed and went still. Ed pressed a kiss to the side of his temple as a reward. He felt like he was unwrapping a gift, as he maneuvered Oswald’s trousers and underwear down around his ankles. Oswald collapsed backwards on the coach, and covered his face with his hands. His embarrassed blush spread all the way down his neck, to his chest.

It was much more intimate, touching Oswald without gloves, and Ed was surprised at how arousing it was, to feel goosebumps pop up on Oswald’s skin. Oswald was already partially erect, which made Ed smile. He took him in hand, and stroked experimentally, using his own solo experience as reference. His technique appeared to be successful – Oswald grew harder in his grip, and unsuccessfully bit off a moan from behind his hands. 

Ed enjoyed the sound, and contrived to hear more. He spread Oswald’s legs further apart, and curiously licked a stripe up his erection, before taking him fully into his mouth. 

“Oh!” Oswald cried, dropping his hands from his face, and letting his head roll back. He was fully erect now. 

Ed explored Oswald with his tongue, relishing each moan and gasp he pulled from him. It was thrilling to have Oswald in his mouth, to have such soft parts utterly at his mercy, but Ed still wanted more. He pulled off of Oswald with a satisfying pop.

Oswald looked down, confused, eyes glazed. Ed met his gaze as he he sucked on his index and middle fingers, slathering them with saliva. He hoisted Oswald’s uninjured leg up on to his shoulder, eliciting a startled squeak, and adjusted his grip until he could see the little furled hole between his legs. He rubbed a thumb along the rim, edging him open just enough to see a twitch of pink

Oswald held tremblingly still, as Ed started slow massaging soothing circles against the outside, pressing lightly but not quite pushing in. Oswald opened like a gift, and the first finger went in easily. Ed took a moment to relish the tight warmth before pulling his finger out so he could return, rewettened, with a second. Without proper lubrication, two fingers required more of a push, but Oswald took it so well, whimpering a little as his hole stretched taut and pink around Ed’s fingers. 

Ed crooked his fingers carefully, in a come hither motion, and Oswald jolted. His erection, which had begun to wilt during penetration, stiffened. Fingers still moving inside, Ed took Oswald’s cock back into his mouth with an enthusiastic slurp. 

“Oh!” Oswald gasped, as his hips began to jerk upwards. Ed held him steady, and glanced up to see Oswald’s head thrown back, neck suffused with red. He bucked desperately, biting his lip. Ed took him down as far as he could, and with one more twist of his fingers, Oswald came. 

Ed swallowed, pleased with the notion that some small part of Oswald Cobblepot was now inside him. He eased his fingers out, dry by now and a little dragging, and gently lowered Oswald’s leg off his shoulder. Mindful of Oswald’s injures ankle, Ed joined him on the couch so that they lay side by side, outstretched. Oswald’s eyes were wet, and his body was pale and passive in Ed’s arms. 

“Did you know,” Ed mused, stroking Oswald’s hair, “that the post-orgasm state can be referred to as le petite mort, or ‘little death’?”

It was good enough that Ed’s dark side was satisfied – for now.

*****

A little death. It was sort of fitting. Oswald felt lobotomized, like Ed had sucked a piece of his soul out of his cock. His trousers were still awkwardly bunched around his ankles, and he wriggled against the scratchiness of Ed’s jumper. Over Ed’s shoulder, Oswald could see Isabelle lying on the floor. There was a dead body just a few feet away from where he’d gotten his first blow job. The absurdity bubbled up in a laugh that sounded more like a sob. 

“Oswald?”

“Isabelle. She – it – is still there.”

“Oh, of course. Isabella,” Ed said, like he was surprised. He stood up, vertebrae cracking as he stretched, and opened the metal door to the white room. Oswald stiffened when he heard the keypad beeping, but Ed didn’t make him go in this time. Instead, Ed dragged the body, carefully, to the white room and said he’d “be back in a jiff.” The heavy door slammed shut behind him, and Oswald let out a breath of relief. 

Careful of his throbbing ankle, he redressed, and then sat staring at the body. It was hard to fathom that the thing collapsed against the wall was, earlier that day, a woman called Isabell-uh. Oswald wondered if he should be more upset, or mourn her or something, but it’s not like he knew her. As far as he was concerned, Isabella had barely existed at all – she was dead when she came through the door. 

Watching it happen was exhilarating in a messed up way. Even with the pain meds keeping him mellow, his adrenaline response kicked into overdrive, senses screaming “fight or flight”. But Oswald just watched. He knew it was over when Ed kissed her, but it was still shocking to see him put his hands against her throat and squeeze.

Ed gazed at her adoringly as she died, and held her like a lover. It weirdly intimate, but also disgusting, and witnessing it made Oswald feel voyeuristic, not horrified. When it was over, Oswald was mainly just glad it was her, and not him. Giddy with relief, all of his senses tingled with revived awareness, 

Oswald had never felt more alive, than the moment Isabella died.


	5. All the way

For the next several days, Oswald was left alone most of the time. When Ed went out, Oswald was confined to the bedroom and living space, cut off from the stairs, kitchen, and white room.

“I’m afraid I can’t trust you with knives or the stove just yet,” Ed had explained, sliding the pocket doors shut, “It’s dangerous.”

It was hard for Oswald to gauge exactly how long he’d been trapped here, because Ed kept him on a cocktail of painkillers, benzos, and hypnotics, which made him feel bleary and sedated. It became routine, and Oswald was bored and lonely for most of the day. He started to look forward to the time when Ed was home, because at least Ed was someone to talk to. 

One evening, Ed came home, paused at the top of the stairs, and announced, “It’s our one week anniversary, Oswald,” before coming in, laden with brown paper shopping bags. Oswald tried not to feel too relieved.

“I thought we could celebrate,” Ed continued, beaming at Oswald, who was stretched out on the couch in his pajamas. Upon Ed's arrival, he sat up and switched off the television. 

“Okay,” Oswald said, distantly, processing. A whole week! His already slim hope of rescue dwindled further.

“I’m making grilled salmon for dinner. You’ll have to be careful because of your medication, but if you pace yourself, you can have some champagne.” 

“Thank you,” Oswald said automatically, “Salmon’s my favorite. 

“I know,” Ed beamed, and brushed Oswald’s fringe aside so he could kiss his forehead. It almost felt nice. 

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asked.

Oswald huffed, “I’m tired of sitting around all day. Are you ever going to let me out?”

“I’m not ruling out alternate outcomes, but you understand that I can’t let you leave, not after our charming dinner with Isabella.”

“I won’t tell anybody,” Oswald said, tightly.

“We’ll revisit the issue later, Oswald,” Ed said with finality, and took Oswald’s hand. “I’d like to apologize for neglecting you these past few days, while I was attending to Isabella. She’s taken care of now.”

Oswald nodded uneasily. He shuddered to think what “attending” to a dead body entailed. Ed gazed at him earnestly, and intensely, and leaned in to just barely brush his lips against Oswald’s. 

“We’re going to have a lovely evening,” Ed promised, “But first, I think you could use a bath.”

*****  
Ed enjoyed the domesticity that Oswald’s presence facilitated. It was like having a family. It had been even better with Isabella, although Oswald didn’t seem too fond of her. They could try again with someone else, later. 

Regardless, Isabella had been beautiful on the table as Ed parceled her away, bit by bit. He pinned her on paper and trapped her in jars, and when he had everything Isabella was, Ed bathed her in sodium hydroxide. Isabella dissolved down the drain, leaving only the brittle shell of her skeleton, which Ed crushed into powder.

When it was over, the tightness in Ed’s chest eased, and he felt mellow, content in a job well done. As the afterglow wore off, Ed became more aware of his house guest, and realized Oswald had been with him for an entire week. Ed had wanted to do something nice for him, especially since he felt guilty for neglecting Oswald in favor of Isabella. 

He fished out two brightly colored tablets from a drawer in the white room, and brought them to Oswald.

“What are those?” he asked

“Something to relax you. To make you feel good.” 

Ed watched Oswald’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and clapped his hands together. “Bubbles?” he asked brightly.

“What?” 

“For your bath. Would you like bubbles?”

“Um...I guess so. Whatever.”

“Excellent,” Ed said. He rolled up his sleeves, and drew the bath, making liberal use of the bubble bath soap. He added scented oils, dimmed the lights, and conveniently placed fresh towels on the side.

“Okie doke,” Ed said, pushing up his glasses, which were fogged from the steam, “It’s ready.”

*****  
The bath wasn't so bad. It reminded Oswald of his mother, and his eyes teared up despite himself. The worst part was getting undressed in front of Ed, but when he got in the water, the bubbles covered Oswald and he felt a little less vulnerable. He started to feel dreamy and warm from whatever Ed had given him. The water felt extra silky against his skin, and he shivered. 

Ed sat down next to him on a low stool, and scrubbed Oswald’s back. It felt so amazing at the moment that Oswald didn’t protest, just passively listened, eyes half closed, to Ed’s boring work anecdotes, mostly complaints about someone named Harvey. 

After the bath, Ed didn’t let Oswald get dressed beyond the towel around his waist. He pulled Oswald over to the bed.

“I was going to wait until after dinner, but I just can’t resist you,” Ed murmured.

“What do you mean? What are you going to do?” Oswald asked, voice cracking. He had a pretty good idea about was going to happen, and despite the warm, floaty feeling in his stomach, a trickle of dread crept down his spine.

“I want to know you, Oswald, on the inside. I want to feel you, touch you,” Ed explained, and tenderly pushed Oswald down against the pillows. Oswald paled, limbs liquid and shaking as Ed gently pulled the towel aside. 

“It’s all right,” Ed encouraged, cupping Oswald’s cheek. He leaned over Oswald, pinning him in place, and spoke into his ear, “You’re being perfect, sweetheart. So good for me.”

When Ed’s hand moved inward on Oswald’s thigh, he snapped out of his daze, and pulled away. He shoved at Ed weakly, squirming underneath him. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t be difficult,” Ed sighed, like Oswald was a disobedient toddler, and caught his wrists easily. Before Oswald could struggle further, Ed locked them to the headboard with leather cuffs. 

Oswald pulled on the restraints, panicked, but there was no give. He went limp, trembling against the sheets as Ed tenderly kissed his throat. It felt disturbingly good, and Oswald couldn't hold back a moan when Ed licked and pinched his nipples. Ed continued, kissing down his stomach, and before long reached Oswald’s traitorous, stiffening cock. Ed licked at the head playfully, before grasping Oswalds thighs and spreading his legs wider. 

Oswald squeezed his eyes shut, heart racing in anticipation.

*****  
Ed knelt between Oswald’s legs, and his breathing quickened. His excitement was more than want – he needed to know Oswald Cobblepot inside and out.

He sat back and and produced a tube of medical grade lubrication from the night stand. Oswald’s eyes snapped open at the rustling, and he stared down at Ed with wide eyes. He was flushed, pupils dilated from the MDMA Ed had given him earlier. 

Ed settled between Oswald’s legs and took a moment to appreciate the view – Oswald, hands cuffed above his head and naked, legs sprawled wide. 

Ed grasped Oswald's thigh and pushed his good leg up, pressing it against his chest. He poured a generous amount of lube on his right hand, and pressed some around and inside Oswald’s opening. The first finger went in easy.

Oswald was shivering, eyes fluttering shut. He was blushing, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on his chest.

“Ah,” Oswald gasped, when Ed added a second finger. Ed pushed in and out, mesmerized by the sight of the tiny hole stretching around the intrusion. He squeezed more lube over his hand and Oswald’s opening before added a third digit. It required more of a push, but Oswald took it so well, tight and twitching around Ed’s fingers. 

“It hurts,” Oswald complained, teary eyed and squirming. Ed tightened his grip on Oswald’s thigh.

“You’re taking it so well, sweetheart,” Ed reassured, twisting his fingers inside Oswald to make him gasp. Ed pulled his fingers out, and pressed a thumb in. It slid in easily now, but Oswald still shifted and gasped.

“Oh,” Oswald moan, with his head thrown back. 

“You did beautifully, Oswald,” Ed said, admiring, “I think you’re ready for me.”

Ed ignored Oswald’s stuttered denials, shushing him softly as he unbuckled his belt. He kicked his pants off, freeing his cock. He stroked himself a few times, applied a generous amount lube, and pressed his cock against Oswald’s opening. It looked so tiny compared to his cock.

Oswald tensed when the head of Ed’s cock pressed against him and clenched his bound hands into fists

“It won’t fit,” Oswald moaned, “You can’t.”

“Shh, sweetheart, you’re doing so well,” Ed encouraged, “Just relax.”

“You relax!” Oswald snarled

As punishment, Edward thrust his cock, hard and sudden, into Oswald’s hole. The initial penetration was smooth, but he encountered resistance from the internal muscles, and had to push forward hard to break through. He pressed all the way in to his balls, and savored the velvety warmth around his cock, tighter on one end than on the other. It was magnificent. Oswald was magnificent. 

Oswald screamed when he was first penetrated, but soon subsided to whimpers and tears. He tried to slump back, arms straining from the handcuffs.

Ed leaned in and kissed him, thrusting softly, chest to chest. He pressed his sweaty forehead against Oswald’s equally clammy one, and said, “If you promise to be a good boy, I’ll take those cuffs off.”

Oswald licked his dry lips. Due to the close proximity, his tongue flicked against Ed’s lips. He moaned. “I promise,” Oswald managed.

“To do what?”

“To be a good boy. I promise to be a good boy,” Oswald mumbled, gasping at a particularly hard thrust. Ed pulled out, and took off the cuffs. He pulled Oswald forward, so he was flat on his back in the bed. 

“Hold your legs up, sweetheart,” Ed said. Oswald immediately tightened his legs together. Ed sighed. 

“You promised to be a good boy, Oswald,” Ed reminded him, “Do I need to tie you up again?”

Oswald sniffled and shook his head. He wiped his face with his hand, and then leaned back flat. He held still as Ed placed a pillow underneath him, and guided his legs up. Oswald obediently held his legs bent, nearly touching his chest, private parts completely exposed. His eyes were clenched shut, and his mouth was a tight line. 

Ed lined up, and pushed in, thrusting for real now. He rolled his hips, going deep inside Oswald, into places no one else had ever touched. The mattress springs squeaked, and the headboard rocked rhythmically against the wall. Ed was close.

“Open your eyes, Oswald,” Ed urged, “look at me.” After a moment’s hesitation, Oswald blinked his eyes open, and the sight of Oswald’s wide, watercolour eyes pushed Ed over the edge. He held Oswald tight as he came. 

He rolled off Oswald, who was panting and flushed, and smiled dreamily. This was like killing, but better, because Oswald wasn’t dead. Oswald was folded into a small, pale ball in the corner of the bed, and Ed gently uncurled him so he could look at his face. 

“I see you,” Ed said, seriously, stroking Oswald’s wet cheek, “and I love you, more than anyone I’ve ever loved before.” He pressed close against Oswald’s back, running his fingertips against the knobby spine, and whispered, “Do you love me, Oswald?”

Ed waited for several heart wrenching beats, in which the only sound was Oswald’s heavy breath. Anxious, Ed unconsciously tightened his grip on Oswald to the point of bruising. Oswald inhaled sharply, and mumbled something into the pillow so softly Ed could barely hear him.

“I...I love you, Ed.”


End file.
